


Getting Stupid in Your Area

by gloss



Category: DCU, Young Justice (1998-2003 Comics)
Genre: Banter, Gen, OT3 FEELS, canon-typical silly, world's finest (and fastest)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:21:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21918259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: Hang-time includes considerations of evil clones and taking down a newly raised lich lord.
Relationships: Robin & Impulse & Superboy
Comments: 22
Kudos: 64
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Getting Stupid in Your Area

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WritLarge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritLarge/gifts).



> This is set in a platonic sort of timeless YJ time before the end of either Impulse or Superboy's eponymous runs - their HQ is in the Catskills, Bart lives in Alabama with Max while Kon's still in Hawaii, Clark has given Superboy his name, both Bart and Kon have dealt with their respective evil counterparts, Tim has yet to reveal his civilian identity to his teammates.
> 
> Title from "Three MCs and One DJ".

Autumn in the Catskills glows gold and crimson; the rivers run silver through ancient passages. Orchards host Pick Yer Own Bushel while pumpkins, buxom and gold, crowd roadside stands. Retired poets contemplate mortality in drying leaves and yuppies open specialty pasta stores. Old hippies check their investments; university students ignore looming midterms in favor of one more afternoon outside.

In a ramshackle old resort, haunted by the ghosts of Shecky Youngman and Patrick Swayze and vats of borscht, a couple of pubescent superheroes meet up to kick back and chill. Neither lives anywhere close, but it’s not like they have anywhere else they’d rather be.

Kon shrugged off his leather jacket when he arrived — it's somewhere in the front hall, probably. Now he's sprawled on the long couch in the lounge struggling with a video game. The _whoosh_ of Bart's arrival provides welcome distraction.

He tosses aside the controller. “Hey, Imp, how’s life in the fast lane?”

Bart dashes around the first floor, checking on his terrariums and the turtle he found last week and grabbing an armful of snacks, before returning to the lounge. By then, there’s just a bag of pretzels left. He tosses it into Superboy’s lap and collapses next to him on the couch.

“Pretty great!” he replies, squirming around until he’s upside down, head inches from the floor and legs over the back of the couch. He knocks Superboy a couple times in the head as he adjusts.

“Watch it, kicky boy!” Kon pats anxiously at his super-gelled hair.

Bart lifts his head. “Oh, no! Breaking news, your tactile TK finally failed? You’re no longer impregnable and invulnerable and also insufferable?”

“Shut up.”

“I feel like the Justice League would’ve told us about this? Some kind of red alert would go out? Rogues would be swarming the budget flights to Hawaii?”

“First of all, _infant_ , I don’t have ‘rogues’. That’s some kind of weird second-tier middle-America thing. Supers—“ He pats the **S** on his chest. “—face supervillains.”

“Rogues are very dangerous,” Bart says, returning from a second trip through the pantries and nibbling delicately on an ice cream sandwich coated in freezer ice. He must have chipped it out. “But also very complicated. They’re human, you know? With all that that entails.”

Superboy spreads both arms across the back of the couch and crosses his legs. “This ought to be good. What _does_ that entail, Bart? Hmm?”

“What?” Bart blinks. “What’s what entail? What’re you talking about?”

Kon grabs for the last bite of ice cream sandwich, but Bart spins away out of reach.

“You break another piece of furniture, it’s coming out of your allowance.” 

The voice comes from everywhere and nowhere at once. It’s deep and sonorous, commanding; both freeze in place, their eyes widening.

“Who’s there?” Kon shouts. “Warning you, we have superpowers that we —“

“— don’t entirely understand but —“

“— are willing to use! Shut _up_ , Bart!”

The disembodied voice says, “Code names. How many times do we have to go over this?”

Kon’s posture relaxes, his fists dropping to his sides, but Bart keeps looking around anxiously, bouncing on the tips of his toes, his mouth caught in a small, shocked **O**.

“Come out, come out, Rob!” Kon says. “We know it’s you.”

“What?” Bart asks. “That’s not Robin, look!”

A figure slowly detaches itself from the far corner of the lounge. As the shadows release it, the details assemble into focus: a slight kid in black sunglasses and spiked hair, tight glittery tee and enormous, ripped pants that puddle over worn-in combat boots.

“Yeah, who the heck are you?” Kon demands, flying over. He screeches to a stop, his toes dragging trails in the carpet. “How’d you get in? Are you friend or foe?”

“If you ask that, aren’t you playing right into my hands?” the kid says.

“He makes a good point,” Bart says as he joins them. 

“Thank you,” the kid says. He’s pale, with chapped lips that sparkle slightly with gloss.

“Is that Lipsmackers by Bonne Bell?” Bart asks, leaning in, his nose twitching like a kitten’s. “My friend Carol — uh. My friend Carolinius! That’s his name. He’s very old-fashioned. He wears Lipsmackers. Raspberry.”

“You’re hopeless,” Kon mutters. “Old-fashioned but wears lip gloss? Hopeless.”

“Joke’s on you, I’m chockful of hope!”

“You’re both terrible at this,” the kid says as he removes his sunglasses. Underneath, he sports Robin's usual green diamond mask, the one they’ve never seen him without. “Failing grade all around. F-minus.”

“How were we supposed to know this was a test?” Kon asks.

Bart nods. “Exactly!”

“Pop quiz,” Robin says as he takes a seat. “That’s the entire point.”

“You can’t just surprise us out of nowhere, Rob!” Bart drops onto the arm of Robin’s chair, draping his legs across Robin’s lap. 

“You do know what a pop quiz is, don’t you?”

“That’s not important right now,” Bart says. 

“I hate to say it, but Imp’s right,” Kon says. He perches on the edge of a nearby table, legs spread and hands clasped between them as he leans forward.

“Do tell,” Robin says and crosses his arms. 

“You’re so obsessed with security, it’s clouded your outlook.”

“Has it?”

Bart slides off the chair’s arm into the sliver of space between it and Robin’s leg. He squirms, getting comfortable, before saying, “Why are you dressed like an emo? Is that who you are? Is that the real you? Robin, Child of the Night?”

“It’s a disguise,” Kon says, but then cocks his head. “Isn’t it? That’s not really you?”

Squeaking, Bart jumps up and away. “Oh my god! What if he’s an evil clone? He’s totally an evil clone!”

“I’m not an evil clone,” Robin says.

“That’s exactly what an evil clone would say,” Kon observes in a stage whisper to Bart.

Bart creeps closer again. He pokes at one of the artful tears in Robin’s big pants. “An emo clone?”

“This isn’t _emo_ , Impulse, this is...” Robin looks down at his ensemble, his mouth twisting. “An attempt at glitter-goth. Necromantic, emphasis on the _romantic_.”

“Emo,” Bart says.

“Shut up,” Kon tells him. “Glitter goth sounds like a villain thing.”

“Unfair!” Bart says before Robin can reply. “Somebody who’s sensitive and misunderstood and likes a little sparkle isn’t a _criminal_! It’s that kind of conformist thinking that...” He breaks off when both Robin and Superboy stare at him. “What?”

“Know an awful lot about being emo,” Kon says. “That’s all.”

“A speedster helps everyone,” Bart replies, sounding almost prim. “I don’t judge.”

“Or think, or hesitate,” Kon says. “Or listen!”

Robin snickers at that, precisely three times, before clearing his throat. “We’ve gotten off-track. What I’d like to discuss is —“

“Evil clones don’t get the talking stick,” Kon tells him.

“There’s no talking stick,” Bart objects.

“It’s a figure of speech,” Robin says to Bart; at the same time, Kon says, “Metaphor, Bart!”

“Code names,” Robin says wearily. “What if I _were_ an evil clone? Do you really want me learning Impulse’s human identity?”

“Lots of people are named Bart,” Bart says patiently. “It’s not like I said ‘Kon-El’ or anything.” Robin covers his face with both hands. Kon slaps Bart lightly upside the head. “Screw you guys, I’m getting more snacks!”

“You emptied the freezer!” Kon shouts after him, but Bart’s long gone.

In the silence, Kon shifts restlessly. The coffee table creaks beneath him.

“I can immobilize you like seventeen different ways,” he tells Robin. “Just in case you’re thinking of causing trouble. More trouble, I mean.”

“I’m not an evil clone,” Robin says again. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Kon taps his temple. “I’m being _smart_. If you were Robin, you’d appreciate that.”

“I’d marvel at the novelty, that’s for sure,” Robin replies. He props his elbow on the arm of the chair and rests his cheek in his palm. “Seventeen ways, huh?”

Kon nods. “Seventeen. Maybe more. Probably a lot more. I get my best inspiration in the heat of the moment.”

“That’s your excuse?”

“Shut up,” Kon says. “Man, your programmers really _nailed_ Rob’s pissiness. Kudos to them.”

“I’m not a clone.”

“You’re totally an evil clone.” Kon folds his arms over his chest and narrows his eyes, the way he’s seen Superman pin a minor criminal in place with just a look.

Robin cocks an eyebrow above his mask. “Lose a contact lens?”

“What?”

“You look confused,” Robin says. “A little dyspeptic.”

“Your face is dyspeptic!”

Nodding, Robin half-smiles. “I’ve heard that, yes.”

“I’ve got a remedy for that!” Bart shoots into the room; bags of chips and cartons of ice cream scatter in his wake. “You want Mylanta or milk of magnesia? Maybe a good old Alka-Seltzer?”

When he comes to a stop, his hair is standing up in about eleventy different directions and his gold goggles are slightly fogged around the edges. 

Kon digs through the plastic sack Bart dropped in his lap. “Did you get my manapua?”

“Just bring some with you!” Bart shouts. “Every time, I swear, you’re so _lazy_!”

“Jackpot,” Kon crows, unwrapping the fat bun and taking a huge bite. 

“It’s teriyaki chicken,” Bart tells him and grins. “Fooled you, though, didn’t I?”

“Good job,” Kon says with his mouth full. He holds up the last morsel to Bart. “Here, you gotta try —“

Robin clears his throat again.

“Sorry,” Kon says. “Evil clones don’t get delicious steamed buns.”

“Don’t worry, Rob! I got you those bland protein chips you like!” Bart showers Robin with several small bags of Crocky-Crisps. “Low salt and mild kelp flavor, just what you like.”

“He’s not Robin,” Kon insists. The severity of his tone is undercut by the sauce smeared around his mouth and crumbs down his front. 

Bart moves in toward Robin, only stopping when he’s about three centimeters away. His goggles distort his eyes, make them look even bigger and wider. “I’m pretty sure this is Rob. He’s got the mask and he’s being mean to us.”

“I’m not _mean_ ,” Robin says. “I have standards and expectations, which you both continually flout, but I’m not mean.”

“See?” Bart turns to Kon, his smile wide and hands up in a big shrug. “That’s totally Rob. Who else would talk like that?”

“Excuse me?” Robin says.

Bart pats Robin's arm. “Don’t worry, Rob, I’m on your side!”

Kon scowls as he looks more closely at Robin. “You still haven’t explained the get-up.”

“My clothes?” Robin tugs at the hem of his glittery t-shirt. “You don’t like them?”

“I love the new look!” Bart puts in.

“It’s different,” Kon says carefully. “Are you, like, experimenting?”

“Perhaps,” Robin says. His mouth makes that sharp, tilting line that could be a smile.

“Can I borrow the shirt sometime?” Bart asks. “There’s a dance coming up and I think it’d look really good on me.”

“Of course,” Robin tells him, and Bart throws his arms around Robin’s neck in an enthusiastic hug. Awkwardly, Robin pats Bart’s back; over Bart’s tousled hair, Robin’s gaze meets Kon’s.

“You look nice,” Kon says finally as Bart peels himself away. He doesn’t go far, just back to the arm of the chair, one leg hooked over Robin’s. “Just...different, I guess.”

“Different from what?” Bart asks. “From the cape and leggings? Duh.”

“Yeah, Superboy,” Robin says with a tilt of the head and twist of the hand in the air. “Different from what?”

“You guys are jackasses,” Kon says gruffly. “Different from how I thought you dressed, that’s all.”

“He thinks about how I dress,” Robin says to Bart, who nods vigorously.

“Shut up!” Kon yells. He shoots up in the air, nearly knocks his head on the ceiling, and sinks back down. If a downward drift could be said to have an affect, his would be 'crabby'. “We’re so far off-track, we might as well be on Krypton!”

“Krypton blew up,” Bart tells him helpfully.

“A while ago,” Robin adds.

“OH MY GOD,” Kon shouts. “Why are you like this?”

Robin rolls back his shoulders and tips up his sharp chin. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You lost me a ways back,” Bart admits. 

Kon paces back and forth and tugs on his gold earring. “Can we start over? Is that possible? I vote we start over.”

“Like, from the beginning?” Bart asks. He dashes down the main staircase and buzzes through the lounge before circling back. “Hi, I’m Impulse!”

“Not that far back,” Kon says. “Just. This conversation.”

“Oh, okay.” Jogging in place, hands on his hips, Bart addresses Robin. “What brings you by, Rob?”

“Thanks for asking,” Robin says in that tone that actually says he’s not at all thankful. “I could use your help, both of you, with an investigation.”

Kon pumps his fist. “Yes! The show! Big time! Bring it on!”

“We’re not allowed in Gotham, though,” Bart says. “Remember? Double top-secret banned.”

“Never forgetting, don’t worry,” Robin says. “This isn’t in Gotham, however.”

“Well, that sucks,” Kon says. “What’s even the point?”

“Helping people?” Robin suggests.

Simultaneously, Bart empties a bag of Crocky-Crisp into his mouth, chews, and says, spraying kelpy-crispy dust, “Solving a big mystery?”

”Righting wrongs.”

“Restoring the peace,” Bart says.

“Fine, fine,” Kon says. “You can both shut up now. I get it. What’s the investigation?”

From his sleeve — no, his arm is bare, it must be from his voluminous pants — Robin produces a tiny projector and turns it on the white wall behind them. As still images and some soundless video play, he explains that he has been investigating a circle of adolescent witches.

"Since when?" Kon asks.

"Several months," Robin replies. "Why?"

"Do you ever sleep?"

"Regularly, yes, thanks for asking. Sometimes nightly, even." He taps his index finger against the projector. "May I continue?"

Kon sweeps his arm in front of him, the gestural equivalent of _be my guest_.

"Thank you." Robin checks the image on the wall. It's a kid's face, about their age, with heavy kohl around their eyes and black lipstick; hair in black spikes falls over their forehead like thorns. "This is the head of the coven, Lachris."

"Whoa," Bart says, getting up close to the wall and tracing the outline of Lachris's cheekbones. "Freaky!"

"I came over today to see if Secret could help me with this —" Robin flips off the projector and stows it back out of sight. "Where are the girls, by the way?"

"Cassie and Anita are doing some dumb artifact research," Kon says.

"Nuh-uh, they're chasing down a _very cool_ artifact!" Bart says. "Suzy's helping with the paranormal side. It's all very hush-hush. I probably shouldn't have said anything."

"In Secret's absence," Robin continues, as if neither of them had spoken, "I decided that you two could help."

"Well, don't flatter us or anything," Kon says.

"What do you need?" Bart asks. "Also, can I go undercover? I want to do my face like hers!"

"Your cross-dressing talents will not be —" Robin stops when he realizes that Bart has already disappeared. The thrum of his return grows louder, until he's back in his place, white paint all over his face save for black smears at his eyes and mouth. He's pulled on a black silk negligee over his Impulse suit; it is twisted up around his waist and he paws at it irritatedly. The effect is something like 'explosion at the costume store' or 'highly inappropriate middle-school production of _Cabaret_ '.

Kon can't stop laughing. "You look like Skeletor!"

"I need you on crowd control," Robin tells Bart. He sounds apologetic, which is strange and humane of him. "If things go wrong, it'd be good to have you there to carry people out of harm's way."

"What about me?" Kon tries the serious eye-narrow again. "I don't want to do undercover."

"Aw," Robin says flatly. "And here we were all looking forward to you as a scenester."

"I was!" Bart grabs Kon's hand to squeeze it consolingly. "Maybe next time, fingers crossed."

Kon turns back to Robin. "What's my job?"

"Heavy-hitter," Robin says. "You do the fighting if necessary."

"Uh-huh, cool, cool. What'm I fighting?"

"The legions of the undead," Robin says as casually as if he'd just announced another snack run or that he'd finished his homework. "Or, more accurately, their dread lich master."

"Dude," Kon replies.

"Dude!" Bart echoes.

Robin's already at the front door. "Shall we?"

*

Lachris and her coven are intimidating as all get-out; Kon doesn't really like how _cool_ they seem, like they wouldn't look twice at a guy like him. Bart remains entranced by their kawaii-ghoul makeup, all the more so since the run over to Western Massachusetts blew all of his makeup off — aside from the kohl around his eyes, which survived thanks to his goggles, leaving him looking like a very surprised raccoon.

"I don't like 'em," Kon mutters from their perch in the rafters above the necromantic ceremony. They're in an old barn, long disused and given over to who knows how many kinds of creepy-crawlies. "The witches."

"I think they're _awesome_ ," Bart says. "Except for the raising the evil dead part. They should probably rethink that."

"Look at Rob down there! He totally blends in. He looks like he's _enjoying_ this. Do you think he likes girls like that? All gloomy and Beetlejuicey?"

Bart squints at the circle. Robin's kneeling with the others, head down, reciting from the forbidden mystery rites. He doesn't appear to be enjoying the proceedings one way or the other. No one does, to be honest.

"Do you mean Winona-Ryder-y?" Bart asks. "Because if Rob were into Beetlejuice the guy, like Michael Keaton in striped pants, that would be..." He cocks his head and tries to picture it. "Actually that would make a lot of sense! He's a weird one."

"Yeah, true," Kon says. He hasn't looked away from the circle below them. The candles in the center describing the points of the pentagram glow fitfully. "He's really weird."

"You shouldn't worry so much, though."

"I'm not worried. Who says I'm worried?"

"Can't talk, bad stuff happening!" With that, Bart zooms away and Kon drops down into the center of the coven. The candles have blown out, and it's very cold as the sound of moaning grows louder and louder. An enormous skeleton unfolds itself in front of Kon, eight feet tall and smelling like rot, its mandible hangs open, letting out that bone-chilling moan.

"Dude, have you heard of _Scope_? Try it, you might be surprised —" Kon holds his breath as he flies up to punch the skeleton in the face. The reek is really bad.

The candles sputter back to life, but then they fall over as Kon and the lich circle each other, trading blows, and the fire spreads quickly. Bart rushes through, grabbing two witches at a time and dragging them outside to safety. He makes six trips, returning a final time to get Lachris and Robin.

Lachris is screaming at the lich. She might be begging forgiveness, swearing allegiance, or berating him; it's hard to tell, and the fire's getting worse, licking up the old beams and criss-crossing in the rafters where Kon and Bart had been hiding.

"Sorry, Your Unholiness," Bart shouts as he scoops Lachris up in a bridal carry and runs her outside. Volunteer firefighters are turning up and Bart leaves her with the biggest of them, explaining in a tumble of words that she's the ringleader.

Inside the barn, the fire is roaring, dark and oily. Kon tackles the lich around its pelvic bones and flies through one wall, dragging sparks and flames in their wake.

Bart scrambles around the flames, looking for Robin, finally shouting his name. The makeup under his goggles melts and stings his eyes; he inhales some smoke and cinders and that _hurts_.

He finds Robin hunched over a pile of books, shirt up over his mouth; he's trapped there behind a crackling fallen rafter. 

"Rob!" Bart dashes up the near wall, down, grabs Robin by the scruff of his neck, and bolts toward the hole Kon helpfully drove through the barn. "Oh my god!"

It's _so cold_ outside. Prickling, bristling cold and strangely quiet. Robin coughs and coughs, but waves Bart away every time Bart tries to thump him on the back or get him water.

"Brought the skull," Kon announces as he trudges back up the hill. He fought the lich in the pond to the west; when he hefts the skull, it streams water and sticky algae. "The rest just sort of...poofed. But underwater. What's an underwater poof?"

"What do I look like, Aquaman?" Bart says. 

"Man, don't leave yourself open like that," Kon tells him. "Where's Rob?"

Bart jerks his thumb over his shoulder. "I think he's okay. Not like he's accepting any help, _of course_."

While Bart consults with the fire brigade — Max is going to be _very_ happy with how informative he is, including a whole re-creation of the lich's rising, complete with sound effects — Kon keeps half an eye on the coven and Robin.

"Got your cape," he tells Robin, unfolding the stamp-sized parcel he dug out of his jacket pocket. When the air hits it, the packet expands into Robin's full-sized cape. Kon wraps it around Robin's narrow shoulders and tucks it into the back of his wrecked shirt. "Better?"

"Where'd you...?"

"Oracle gave me a couple extra," Kon says airily. "I _can_ be trusted, you know."

Robin smiles with effort. His face is streaked with smoke and sweat, though his diamond mask remains pristine. "On occasion, yes."

"We need to get you checked out." Kon helps him to his feet and guides him toward the ambulance. Robin tries to turn away, but the tactile TK is too much for a mere mortal, no matter how scary-smart and crazy-stubborn he is.

Hours later, the barn's remains smolder like greasy bones and Lachris is entrusted to the care of a white witch friend of Donna Troy, and the team heads back to the Catskills. The sky's lightening into mother-of-pearl glows behind them; Kon carries Robin while Bart runs below.

"I just thought of the freakiest thing!" Bart shouts as they turn onto Route 299. "What if Rob _is_ the evil clone?"

"He's not an evil clone," Kon calls back. Robin might be asleep, and Kon cringes at the noise he just made.

"No, think about it. The Rob we know is the evil one. Somewhere out there is a nice, good Robin." Bart skids down the driveway to the resort, spraying pebbles behind him.

"I like the one we've got, though." Kon alights delicately, and nudges open the door with his shoulder. He's speaking pretty softly.

"What if I'm both?" Robin asks, voice clear as day, as he hops out of Kon's arms and shakes out his cape. "Maybe I've integrated my evil shadow self and now carry the power of both."

"Whoa," Bart breathes. He takes another bite of a chunk of salt-water taffy he picked up somewhere.

Kon's nodding as he thinks it over. "Makes the most sense so far."

Robin heads for the stairs. "I'm going to get some sleep before the day really starts. You guys hanging around?"

"Sleepover!" Bart shouts as he dashes up the banister.

What can Kon do? He's outvoted.


End file.
